


And I'm Sorry For It

by kinky_but_wholesome



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Trauma, collins is big and soft, goodsir needs a hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22064332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinky_but_wholesome/pseuds/kinky_but_wholesome
Summary: (This is a reupload because I deleted it the first time around- I worked out the small bumps and hopefully it is much better!)This fic idea has been circling in the back of my mind for some time now! It takes place in Episode 7 (Horrible From Supper) after Morfin has been shot. Instead of Lady Silence going to our favorite doctor and naturalist I decided (to contribute to this rather small pairing) that Collins should go and comfort Goodsir. The result is a mixture of angst and extreme cuddling! Enjoy!My tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kinky-but-wholesome
Relationships: Harry D. S Goodsir/Henry Collins, Henry Collins & Harry D. S. Goodsir, Henry Collins/Harry D. S. Goodsir
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	And I'm Sorry For It

Heart pumping fast, fear ran through him, his mind a mess and the gunshot rang in his ears. Pushing men off of him, Goodsir gulped- throat dry and ran back into his tent. He grips onto his table littered with papers and vials, shoving off his cap and boots with frightened in coordination. Already curling in on himself, Goodsir collapses onto his ‘bed’- a far cry from the comforts of his home back in England. His breathing was faster and faster, chest seizing up and closing off his lungs.

Everything was going okay. No one expected what had happened; the waters seemed calm for once. But then Morfin, no doubt in the wrong head space, straggled out and fell onto the rocks. Looking back on the sudden turn of events, Goodsir views himself in the third person, leaning over the man, asking what he needed. A fruitless task but he needed to be helped. A tussle to get him up but then a gun was in Morfin’s clumsy hands. The image of Morfin on the ground bleeding out ran through the doctor's mind. He tried to reach out to anything but his hands were so shaky.

Goodsir’s sobs only worsened as he tried to calm himself down. He hugged himself; the emptiness of the tent scared him and the fact he was so alone in this vast wasteland only scared him more. He wished this could stop but it didn't seem like it would anytime soon. The groan of a man outside, asking for his head to be blown off like ‘the others.’ The premature doctor feels his body struggling to get out air, muscles tightening and fingers gripping into himself.  
\----------------------  
Collins stares at the dirty fabric of his tent, hands clenched together at his chest. Men had risen to seek out the source of the noise but Collins stays put, too afraid to move.

‘Help me! Just help me!’

Images of Carnivale, the voices asking-no- begging for help...the sight of friends dying, being burned alive. He didn’t know terrible from supper...Collins hadn’t realized how his breathing was becoming shallow. The men in his tent had left, foolishly enamoured with such activity in a desolate place like this.  
Then the guns went off and Collins flinched, the sound of shale being crunched underfoot following the eerie silence. Captain Crozier’s voice dismissing the group as if a man- someone- had not been shot. In the commotion, and out of sheer anxiety, Collins gets up. His thoughts, though cluttered with the uncertainty of getting out of his paralyzing fear, landed on Goodsir. Had he heard the man’s voice or was it simply put there by Collins’ mind? Was the doctor all right? Was it right of Collins to care?  
Passing disgruntled and disturbed men, Collins comes upon the body of Morfin, half of his head blown clean off. Bile rises to his throat and he quickly makes his way to...

Quiet sobs. 

Collins hesitates outside of the tent, asking God for forgiveness before stepping inside. This was wrong, to impose on such privacy and Collins did indeed regret his actions but he struggled to find the reasoning for pursuing them. His dark, melancholy eyes find Goodsir, face wet with tears and body wracked in shudders.  
Goodsir looks up, eyes widening at the sudden presence of another but he was not scared, not frightened. The small part of him that was still rational and not soaked in an indescribable sadness was happy to see Collins. 

“..Collins?” 

Collins nods in affirmation at Goodsir's soft, rasping voice and is taken back to how the doctor had calmed him only hours before the incident though it felt like ages ago. Seeing Goodsir not outwardly alarmed, not asking him to leave, Collins kneels down next to him, laying on his side. Collins stays silent, a solid presence in the dim light of a flickering lamp.  
Images of fire and the sounds of screams come rushing back- gunshots resound in the flash of memory. He feels weight settling on the blankets and the thrashing waves of Goodsir’s thoughts slowly pull back out to sea. The doctor sniffs, feeling warmth behind him but his shaking doesn't stop nor does his sobs. His breath shows in the cold. The tent flaps were open slightly, a thin line of darkness breaks the warm light of the lamp beside his pillow. With a tentative hand, Collins reaches out and grips Goodsir’s arm gently. Goodsir jumps at the touch, taking a breath as his heart hammered against his chest. The doctor did not move Collins’ hand away, not a word leaving his lips. The small comfort made Goodsir’s heart swell and he cried harder. 

He gulps for air, sniffling as he rolls over. They face one another now. Goodsir’s cheeks are damp and new, hot tears run down his cheeks.  
Warm. Safe. Collins was real and calm. He was there, not a cold corpse on an examination table, not something Goodsir had to detach himself from.  
Goodsir holds onto Collins as he shakes. Nuzzling his face into the larger man's chest, Goodsir finds comfort in Collins’ soft wool sweater; the fabric reminding the doctor of home, of simpler times. Being with Collins’ made him feel better, though he knew such a thought was wrong. That their embrace was wrong but neither seemed eager to pull away. They stayed like that for a while, Goodsir listening to the diver’s great heartbeat, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breathing as Collins’ enfolds the doctor in his arms. Goodsir was still shaking profusely and Collins wraps the doctor in the plentiful blankets on the ‘bed’. Collins doesn’t let any hidden feelings make themselves shown- only mutual comfort.

“You’re a good person, doctor,”

Collins says, voice low yet caring. He rubs Goodsir’s back.

Goodsir burrowed his way closer into Collins’ large arms, a silent plea begging him to stay close. Both the warmth of the other man and the pressure of being cocooned in a blanket calms the doctor’s frantic breathing. The once-hot tears that streaked his rosy face now run dry and his trembling is still a problem though not as fervent as before.  
Goodsir- with shaky hands- pulls the blanket over Collins. Both men didn't know what to say. This was so...odd. Odd, for lack of a better word, because men weren’t supposed to be doing this. Comforting one another in such an intimate way- it was absurd. The diver could feel the man in his arms quiet down, the panic fleeing from the doctor’s body yet..  
Should he pull away? Collins was about to when Goodsir pulled the blankets over the both of them now. Laying with one another like lovers. Lovers. Collins dismisses it- this wasn’t..no; no feelings could fall from his clumsy mouth.

“He wasn’t- Morfin- he was far gone,”

Was this the right thing to say? Collins didn’t know and was being led blindly by instinct. He had the urge to bury his face into Goodsir’s curls, to possibly kiss him there. Reassurance in the darkness. But he reminded himself that this was mutual comfort- not one sprung from a relationship. He only melts in Collins’ embrace more as the other rubs his back.

"I-I just... God,"

Goodsir spoke, voice drained and turbulent. Collins never had this with a dame- humiliation only came of having relations with the fairer sex. He was too big, face like a thundercloud, unkempt hair, and not ‘performing’ well enough to finish. Collins had ushered himself to churches, to kneel before God and ask for a change, to make him normal.

But nothing happened. Collins wants to stay in this moment forever, to ignore the thoughts of a rude awakening.

“No powder could have saved him. He...he’s gone,”

Collins repeats the words Des Veoux said to him after Orren fell into the water, screaming like a wounded hawk. They had a night to themselves, Collins and Des Veoux after the incident...it was not pleasant. Collins only felt dirtier and unhelpful, sighing and opens his eyes as if to keep the thoughts away. As if they were on the backs of his eyes and not in his head. He curls around Goodsir tighter, wanting to protect the only good thing left in the camp.  
Man of God, he reminded himself as the thought of kissing Collins’ cheek, his lips, neck- dammit, Goodsir get a hold of yourself! He shouldn't love that it was another man. This was simply a kind gesture- an attempt at comfort in such a wasteland.

It goes quiet again. There was no reason to be here now- Goodsir was calm and seemingly at ease. Collins wanted to be with Goodsir if he were to be plain about his feelings.

But Collins knew that Lady Silence was whom Goodsir fancied.

“I...I fear I have pushed my stay,” 

Collins says quietly, voice reverberating in his chest. This was wonderful but...he knew it couldn’t last. It shouldn’t last.  
He begins to unwrap his arms, the warmth between them dispersing into the cool night air. The comforting lamp light had shifted into one too harsh as if it was urging Collins to leave. Goodsir wanted to tell Collins it was okay, tell him they could keep laying together. Reach out for him. But Goodsir didn't. The doctor nods and let's go of Collins. They both don't make eye contact with one another. They had taken this to far and if they met eyes then God knows what would happen. Goodsir then sits up in his bed as Collins gets up with a sigh. The doctor covers himself in the blankets in hopes to get that feeling back but he couldn't.  
After Collins gets up, emotions bubble into his throat. He pauses before leaving the tent but doesn’t look back. The cold air attacks him, drains the essence of comfort from his aching body. He focuses on the crunch of rocks under his boots.  
\------------------------------

Goodsir lays down, turning off his lamp. He feels empty now as he rolls back on his side. He imagines Collins is still there, arms still around him and his husky voice still resounding softly into the air. The doctor hugs his pillow close to his chest. Goodsir knows he'll never get that again. But still, he wants and misses it. He breaks into another strangled sob. He ends up falling asleep crying that night.

Alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I will be adding chapters periodically! Expect more from these two in more of my works! <3


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